A Game of Seduction
by Kez Ramsey
Summary: 10 years post Cabin . . . There's anticipation in the city. A clan war is near again. Julian can't help but suspect Cameron, who has been biding his time and yet, it's a member of his own clan who is about to make the first move.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: New Blood

"_Julian Luna's affinity for seduction is no secret . . . I don't understand your apprehension, Elena."_

"_What apprehension?"_

"_I can hear it in your voice. Don't play tough with me." A silent growl felt in the hammer of the words. Elena shuddered:_

"_I'm sorry, sir. It's just – there's just a lot that could go wrong."_

"_Of course there is, but I have never known you to allow **anything** to go wrong," he laughed – meant to be an assurance, I trust you, still it came out as a mocking exhalation. "This task will be carried out with the finesse I've come to expect of you, Childe, regardless."_

"_Yes sir."_

"_Matthew has been sent for. He'll be with you shortly to watch your back."_

"_That makes me feel a little better."_

"_Keep this device with you. I shall check in on you regularly."_

"_Understood."_

ooo

Lillie offered the Prince of San Francisco some wine as he continued to gaze out the window overlooking the Haven. Dark velvet framed the picture, bodies moving to music, sitting, drinking. Predators and prey caught in normalcy. After a moment, Julian accepted the glass but neglected to take a sip. Lillie's pale eyes took in his hands, grasping the stemware casually; tension lurked in the veins and tissue, motes of foresight caught in non-chalance.

"You're thinking about the clans," she began. "What's going to happen now –"

He took a sip if only to quiet her. "Cameron's Brujah . . ."

"They're here every night," Lillie muttered, deciding to play along with the dull chatter.

Julian nodded towards the booths that lined the back wall of the nightclub. "She's here again tonight?"

Half-lidded eyes revealed the Toreador's distaste. "I'd rather the ill-bred did not frequent my domain."

A smirk pulled at the corner of the Prince's mouth. "Your snobbery surprises even me, somedays." A final sip of the alcohol-infused vitae and he returned the glass. Lillie watched him leave; he could sense her eyes at his back, two points pressed into the small of his back. More eyes greeted him as he descended the stairs to the club. Brujah, Gangrel, Toreador eyes mortal in the glow of the stagelights. He followed the scent of the new blood.

Elena continued to type away on her sleek laptop. The Prince's footsteps distinct against the background music of the Haven; she wondered if he was doing this on purpose for her benefit. When he stopped an arm's length behind her, she closed the laptop.

"You must be Prince Julian Luna." She made a show of not facing him as she spoke.

"Interesting," was all he said.

Elena sat there waiting.

Finally, he moved closer – standing at the end of the table, hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants haphazardly. She eyed the pronounced widow's peak of his hair line and his dark eyes before averting her gaze; it was a glance of periphery. Julian smiled.

"I might have overlooked your coming into my city without asking for permission first if you were Brujah or even Gangrel," he said lightly.

"I'm just passing through," Elena stated evenly, feeling the weight of his gaze.

He sat down opposite her, regarding the little white laptop curiously. "Consider yourself lucky. If you weren't of my clan, I doubt we would be having this conversation."

Amidst the stir of bodies and hum of music, their voices were simply another ephemeral layer to the busy caucophony. Elena surveyed her surroundings, noting the eyes of one Gangrel in particular placed firmly upon them. "You speak rather candidly, given the environment," she commented. "I thought it was taboo to speak of such things so openly."

"I'd like to know what a childe of Marius Franco is doing in my city." Direct. Elena smiled rebelliously,

"I'll leave if that's what you want," she replied.

"I've already told you what I want."

"And will your bruisers kindly escort me out of here if I don't answer to your liking?" she clasped manicured hands around the barrel of her glass, bringing it closer for a taste. "I'm here because I want to be, Prince. Shouldering this lineage means that I've had to pick up a nomadic lifestyle. I don't mind moving on already, if I've over-stayed my welcome."

Julian watched her as she drained the glass; slender fingers around the thick highball, dark lips that wrapped around the Scotch. "I'm not of the mind that the sins of the sire should be visited upon the childe, however I do have a city to look after," he waited until he had caught her gaze before continuing, "and your presence here, already, has stirred some tension." Elena discovered the mismatched colour of his eyes as he stared at her pointedly. The look was neither a glare of warning or an examination of her, rather it was simply a statement. _I am Prince here_.

"This is where I point out that the elders of Boston did find me innocent. I had nothing to do with what my sire and brothers and sister –"

"You wouldn't be here otherwise if that were not true," Julian stated flatly. He tapped the on the laptop between them for emphasis, "This is where I warn you to watch yourself."

"Will do, my Prince." She extended her hand slowly, wrapped it around his own, and brought his ring to her lips.

Julian bowed his head respectively – amusedly – in response, laughing softly. "Welcome to San Francisco."

Elena returned the gesture, allowing her eyes to linger on his and smiled again.

ooo

"_Julian Luna's affinity for seduction is no secret. Mortal and kindred alike, it makes no difference. He's a creature of conquest –"_

"_He is Ventrue," Elena remarked, only partly in jest._

"_Too true. You, my dear, are perfectly suited for this."_

"_Is that some veiled compliment at my wit? Or do you mean because I happen to bear a resemblance to his human wife?"_

"_Both will serve you well. Elena, I spared you the fate of Tobias, Anthony and Mariella for this. Boston will be nothing more than a footnote after – San Francisco is soon to change hands . . ."_

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Author's Note: So, here t'is. This is a random idea that popped into my head – an outlet for all of those guilty aspirations I have had about wanting to write a sexy romance (with some serious vampire intrigue toboot!). And, seriously, who wouldn't want to be seduced by Julian Luna? Anyways, we shall see how it goes. Thanks for reading – k.ramsey

version 2.0 - revised and refocused for your delight . . .


	2. Chapter 2

She had never met Matthew, her brother; he had been made shortly after the fiasco in Boston. Many had been turned after that fateful night – most of them, Marius assured her, had been embraced as "fodder", but this Matthew was supposed to be different. The first of a second generation. Elena trusted in her Sire's confidence in Matthew's abilities, but secretly she decided it would be best not to allow herself to rely on him too much.

When the cell rang, her hand searching for it amidst the sheets, she growled low in her throat.

"Rise and shine, big sister. The moon has nearly been up for an hour now," his voice was youthful, without the taint of hollow years.

As she woke fully, Elena brought the phone to her ear. "Here already?"

"Our Sire made it quite clear how important your safety is to him," it was possible the disdain she heard in the words were not directed towards her, but unlikely. Elena chose to ignore it.

She pulled herself out of bed. "Where are you?"

"Look out your window."

The slightest wink of light amongst the shadows of a rooftop across from her building. She guessed the scope of a sniper rifle and promptly closed her blinds. "Good to know. Good to meet you," the last an afterthought, best to have him believe she valued his presence.

"Is there anything I can do for you just yet, big sister?"

He had apparently decided upon the nickname; it was either a sign of respect or mockery. Elena checked the display on her phone. "Not at the moment. Is this the number where I can reach you?"

"You got it."

"Just remember to keep a low profile," and she closed the phone as Matthew snorted in disbelief. Of course, Elena hadn't meant it as advice. _Just remember, I'm in charge here._

ooo

New York had fallen to war, and Los Angeles was hovering on the brink. The burgeoning tension amongst the kindred of the city was nearly palatable, salty and bittersweet. Surely, Julian Luna was feeling the pressure with such chaos blossoming all around, threatening to infect his city.

Perhaps _threatening _was the wrong word.

For the third night in a row, Elena sat at her favoured booth observing. Peace was hanging by a ligament of stretched-too-thin tissue. One snap of the fangs and the entire thing would crumple to the ground. She watched as the Gangrel and Brujah sat in their separate corners, sizing one another up, dancing defiance with their posturing and staring contests. It wouldn't take much . . .

As her gaze swept over the goings-on of the nightclub, she wondered if the Prince was here again tonight, watching as well – if the Toreador Primogen was enjoying the scene from the mirrored window up above. _She _would be interesting to tangle with, but it was, of course, the Brujah Primogen Elena found the most intriguing. He had neglected to show even once, despite the number of Brujah who frequented the place.

She faced the stairs leading up to the Toreador's office for a change. This way she could observe the Brujah and Gangrel a little more directly and could see who, if anyone, went to or came from the rooms upstairs. This meant, however, that her back was to the front door; she placed her glass appropriately, keeping the reflected entrance in her periphery.

It was in this reversed world that she first saw the Ventrue Primogen and his woman enter the nightclub. Clad in a tailored suit that, because of it's cream colour, seemed to highlight his pale skin and beach-blond hair, he walked with the purpose of an aristocrat - a measured gait marked by the swiftness of his dark leather loafers. The woman clung to his arm, as the Primogen made his way over to Elena's table. She knew the type, a shoulder-trophy; she had been one herself once years ago. Despite his facade, the Primogen was wary of his surroundings atleast, eyeing the Brujah and Gangrel analytically as he strode over. Elena noted the unease in his eyes as he stopped at her table; she chanced a glance at the two clans before looking to the Primogen before her.

"Ventrue." Neither a question or a statement, an off-hand comment.

Elena assumed no pretense of arrogance for this one. "A seat, sir?"

"I'm not here because of you," he stated. "But I suppose some words between us are in order."

"I have been warned and subsequently admitted entrance here, by Mr. Luna."

"Yes, I know. If he doesn't believe you a threat, then neither do I." The Primogen glanced around again. Elena sensed Brujah eyes upon the couple, and when she took in the woman at the Primogen's side fully, she realized why. The youngest always were the easiest prey.

"We are family, yes? Mister . . .?" she tried as politely as possible, offering the requisite clan solidarity while a stray thought passed by her mind's eye.

"Aaron Cavenaugh, and yes, we are." He pushed his companion forward ever so slightly. "Katrina, allow me to introduce you to Miss Elena Franco."

"May I sit with you, Miss Franco?" Katrina asked, apparently in possession of a better understanding of the situation than Elena had given her credit for.

Elena looked to Cavenaugh and then to her glass; she smiled warmly. "So long as you get me another Scotch."

Katrina looked to her sire, who nodded. "Don't let any of the Brujah buy you a drink," he warned lightly as she made her way to the bar. Cavenaugh said nothing else to Elena. He crossed the Haven and disappeared up the stairs.

Elena sat back, watching the awkward childe as she ordered the Scotch. In collective, the Brujah regarded her from where they sat, in the same manner a cat might regard an injured bird. She returned as quickly as possible, carrying the drink in both of her hands.

"Sit," Elena instructed as she took the highball from Katrina casually. "You didn't get anything for yourself?"

"I haven't the stomach for it yet," she admitted. She spoke with a slight French accent, _Parisian _Elena guessed.

"People don't come to a nightclub to sit and not drink. Even a glass of water," Elena took a sip to emphasize the point. "Survival is about fitting in." She tried not to play the part of the teacher, but the naiveté in the girl's eyes made it damn-near impossible. Elena had been in charge of Mariella's upbringing. She decided to change the subject. "How do you find San Francisco, Miss Katrina?"

"Beautiful," she said. "You must be new to the city? Aaron makes a habit of meeting all of the new . . ." a pause as she ventured to say the word in public, "Ventrue."

Elena simply nodded. If this girl didn't know who she was, there was no point in enlightening her. "Your master is here to speak with the Toreador Primogen?"

Katrina remained silent, apparently unsure of how to respond.

"I was merely making conversation. It's obvious that he is."

"Oh," the girl said, smiling in spite of herself. "Yes."

"Have you ever met the Toreador Primogen?"

"Miss Lillie is a very powerful figure," she sounded as if she was reciting the line from a textbook or some lesson.

"You're not used to being without your master," Elena commented as she enjoyed another taste of the strong alcohol. When Katrina only stared at her, she added, "That too, is obvious, by the way."

"You're here, by yourself?"

"Yes. I've been without such a master for quite some time."

Aware that the conversation had suddenly become faux pas, Katrina piped, "Shall I go and get myself something to drink then?"

"If you want," Elena returned. She had told Matthew that she had had no plans of inciting any trouble tonight, but with such an opportunity sitting before her . . . that idea was starting to nag at her. "If you'd excuse me for a moment, I need to make a call." It's not that she wasn't sympathetic to the girl's plight, it just so happened her will outweighed her compassion. Childer - despite what the most humanitarian of sires might believe - were always embraced for one singular purpose; they were tools, and tools were used to solve problems.

"Of course," Katrina allowed as the elder Ventrue got up from her seat.

As Elena meandered over to the back corridor of the nightclub, she couldn't help but smile. Katrina got up to get herself a drink almost as if on cue. The elder Ventrue turned her back from the scene as she brought out her cellphone.

"Matthew?"

"Here," he greeted simply.

"I do need you to do something for me."

"I'm here to serve."

"I need a glock by tomorrow night.Oh, and I'll be leaving here shortly. Try to keep up."

Brujah were unpredictable in the way pyromaniacs were, Elena had come to understand. They might burn down their own house just to satiate their passions, but give them a match and watch them ignite it. Two had flanked Katrina as she made her way back to the booth. As she sat down, they took up position at the end of the table. _Let's have a dance, cutie. I'll buy you a drink, babe._ Perhaps they had sophisticated their language since then – probably not.

And there it was, one of them tipped over Katrina's pathetic daiquiri as she refused them yet again. That alone would have been enough. Still, as Elena walked over stealthily, the Brujah closest to Katrina grabbed for her arm.

A shove. The first was of little import, but the second Brujah sensed the danger. He turned – into Elena's palm. Like a piston, and the Brujah's head snapped back accordingly. There was no blood behind the move, just her own wiry strength. The visceral _crack!_ that followed, the blood that spewed from his nose was ineffectual. His roar of rage, however, brought the Brujah clan to its feet, some casually reaching into jackets or pockets . . . Elena had her hands raised as she stepped back from the inevitable one-handed slash that followed, a mindless attempt to return the hurt – the other hand, of course, cradled the crushed nose.

The mortals among them had even stopped, caught in the pudding of tension that now enveloped the club. Thick, slow movements epitomized the scene. A large hand came down around Elena's shoulder, holding her back from inciting a foray; she looked behind her to see one of the bouncers. She still had her hands up, one covered in crimson albeit. This was not an action of malice, but of honour - something like that. A jerk backwards from the bouncer and she walked away without incident, eyeing the Brujah who stood there, one fist clenched hard enough to draw blood – _drip, drip, drip!_ to the floor. She smiled.

"Allez vers votre maître, et lui dire ce qui s'est passé!" Elena muttered as she was pulled away.

Katrina was no fool atleast. Hearing the words, she nodded and flew passed them, up the stairs and out of sight. Few paid her little notice; it was the Ventrue who had broken the sanctum of the Haven whom everyone now looked to, and still Elena smiled.

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Can anyone tell that I'm avoiding an essay on rhetorical theory? Thanks for reading – k.ramsey

PS- "Go to your master and tell him what has happened!"

version 2.0 . . . revised and refocused for your delight . . . ah, clarity.


	3. Chapter 3

These days, Julian's study acted as his boardroom for the conclaves and various clan meetings. The oblong. mahogany table took up majority of the room, sparing only the very back from it's formality; two highback chairs faced the fireplace, one of which only ever occupied by ghosts of the past and cool respite in the form of the main balcony's entrance. Utilitarianism was not in his nature – still, when the Prince had decided to hold the various proceedings here no one questioned it. He would never admit it was because this was the one room in the entire mansion that he truly felt was his, the one room where he felt the most comfortable, despite and even in spite of the memory-shadows that flickered in the firelight from time to time.

He heard the lecture on the same level that he heard the fire crackle, background noise – audible but commonplace. With each turn of the page, his sire's words were less and less distinguishable from the flamesong. Reading had always been an escape. The words hardly mattered, Julian could recite line of this particular volume – Don Quixote – from memory. The act in itself was calming, a means of freeing the mind and shifting one's attention if only for a moment –

"Julian?"

The Prince looked up from the book, a silent acknowledgement of Cash's presence.

"There's been an incident," Cash said rather reluctantly. Julian was already rising from his chair. "At the Haven –"

"What?" the glow of blue in the Prince's eyes as he turned to face his bodyguard – the Gangrel took an involuntary step backwards. Without bothering to say anything more, Cash opened the door to Julian's study and nodded at someone without. The scent of dried blood assaulted him as Elena Franco was inelegantly shoved through. The Prince glared at her with his white-blue eyes. "Leave us," he ordered.

Elena watched as the Prince clasped his hands behind his back, preferring to direct his gaze out towards the balcony rather than at her. The Brujah blood had been cleaned from her hand, albeit a little abrasively, before she was allowed before the Prince. Still, flecks of it remained underneath her fingernails. She smelled of violence, and the brown-red trace of her brawl seemed glaringly magnified against the dominant ivory of the room. It made her feel oddly self-conscious.

"I'm glad to see that you atleast have the intelligence to keep your mouth shut," the Prince said after a moment, blue-white eyes carefully falling upon the darkened tips of Elena's fingernails. She did not meet his gaze when he moved to examine her face. "What happened?"

Elena considered.

A loud exhalation from the Prince. "I thought you were only passing through."

"Are you going to kill me because of this indiscretion, my Prince?"

"I might. No doubt someone wants your blood at the moment. What happened? I won't ask again."

"I made a point of breaking a Brujah's nose. It may have been a bit reckless."

"Perfect," Julian muttered. The primal blue of his eyes had subsided.

"I was looking out for the good of the clan," Elena decided to add.

"The good of the clan?" A momentary flash of the predatory eyes. "By causing havoc in my city?"

"I told you – it may have been a little reckless on my part."

Julian let out an exasperated laugh in spite of himself. "The Haven acts as Elysium. No such actions are ever to take place there." He glanced at her. "The Brujah Primogen will be here shortly I imagine. I am going to the balcony – we may need the cool air."

Elena waited until the Prince had left the room before she followed after him. Gossamer curtains danced idly in the breeze as she walked onto the balcony. Julian stood looking out over the gardens that filled the back of his estate; his hands were still clasped behind his back. She wondered if he was resisting the urge to hit her and with that thought, decided to keep a few steps back of him. The smell of the air spoke little of danger, but she knew all too well the duality of a Ventrue's temperament. Granted, risk was inherent to the best payoffs.

The door to the study opened, footsteps . . . when Aaron Cavenaugh appeared at the threshold of the doorway, Elena resisted the urge to smile. "Sire, excuse my interruption," he said.

"Don't tell me you're a part of this as well, Aaron," Julian commented without bothering to look at the lesser Ventrue.

Cavenaugh took a step onto the balcony but no closer. "I'm here to formally ask for leniency regarding . . ." he nodded in Elena's direction.

Julian regarded Elena curiously. "And this is all in the name of clan solidarity?" he asked of Cavenaugh.

"Not exactly. This is about – "

"Saving face," Elena interjected. "Isn't it always, with us?"

"The Brujah were acting out of line at the Haven," the Ventrue Primogen started.

"Perhaps you can better explain what happened tonight," Julian directed.

"I brought Katrina with me, to the Haven –"

The Prince groaned, grasping the situation all too easily. He ran a hand through his hair idiosyncratically. "I see."

"Though I do not approve of the way Miss Franco dealt with the situation, you must agree that if she hadn't done anything . . . well, I would be honour-bound to, to – "

Nodding, Julian placed his hands on the balcony railing, flexing – perhaps habitually – before leaning there. The silence he cultivated was twofold, allowing him to mull over the details while also pandering to Cavenaugh's apparent anxiety. An interesting predicament. A headache, yes, but had he been forced to take action against the Brujah . . . well, his would have been neither swift nor decisive. He was a good businessman, good at micromanaging the clan, but a horrible politician.

"It was where I was taken for the first time, when close to gaining my independence," the Primogen blurted suddenly, apparently feeling the need to defend himself.

"You were raised to be a financier," Julian growled. What Katrina had been raised for went unsaid; these things were not spoken of in Ventrue society. "I imagine Cameron is here. You can send him in on your way out."

Cavenaugh looked as though he were going to say something else, protest the absent dismissal he had just received, but then thought better of it. "Yes, my Prince," he conceded before turning and leaving.

Elena took a step forward, testing the waters between herself and Julian. "His first childe?" she asked casually.

A nod. As the door to the study closed behind the Ventrue, Julian let out a short laugh. "For the good of the clan?"

Elena snorted lightly, "I may have lied about that." She shrugged, "Perhaps it was just something I wish had been done for me a long time ago.

He surveyed her body for the first time, made a show of it, stopping at her hazel eyes. Julian nodded, albeit a little solemnly; she had the looks for it, embraced to keep the lonely nights away.

A clearing of the throat brought both of their attentions to the threshold of the balcony. Cameron had a habit of sneaking up on people. Tall and lanky, he did not conjure the image of a Brujah Primogen. Still, there was an intensity to his presence, and yet, no anger behind his eyes. "Theodore's sire wants her head," he said by way of greeting, pointing to Elena.

"That seems a little out of proportion to the crime," she commented.

"She attacked one of my clanmates in public, in the Haven," Cameron exclaimed.

"Attacked? I defended – I just had to use a tactic a Brujah would understand."

"Enough," Julian warned. He glanced at Cameron and then back to the gardens. Crisp foliage bathed in moonlight. "However, I'm inclined to agree. If Elena hadn't assaulted your man, it'd be Aaron Cavenaugh here asking for blood."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your boys were harassing one of _my_ kin."

Cameron absorbed the information, pausing for only a second or two. "The Primogen's childe? Where was Cavenaugh in all this?"

"Attending a meeting with Lillie."

Elena now saw the sort of Brujah that Cameron was – that rarefied breed her sire had warned her about, serene rather than fierce. "So, if he left her alone she should have been able to fend for herself. My boys were just having some fun."

"Lillie's Haven is Elysium," Julian said. "And your clan's penchant for harassing the young is starting to grate on my nerves, Cameron."

"Look, there was nothing stopping this girl from running back to her sire," the Brujah remarked.

"You mean, except for the two six-foot punks standing in her way," Elena rejoined. Julian put up his hand to quiet her.

"Enough." The Prince regarded the other Ventrue as he spoke to Cameron, "So, what would you have me do? Rip off her head? Right here? Right now?"

"Nah," he said. "I'm not one to overreact, but I want a boon. Owed by her to me."

"Fine," Julian agreed.

Elena eyed Cameron as he left.

"I'll be in touch," he assured her before leaving. "Don't get yourself smoked before you pay me my boon."

"Try my best to resist the urge."

Cameron laughed as he left.

"Am I dismissed too, Sire?"

"You think you're getting off with only a minor boon owed to the Brujah?" Julian remarked incredulously.

"It was worth a try."

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Author's Note: So, the romance is coming, I swear! And if anyone could toss me a review and validate my existence that would be great. I know people are reading this, thanks to my handy-dandy counter thing. C'mon. Tell me I'm writing Julian or Cameron out of character, ask me just what the hell exactly Marius did back in Boston – anything! Half the fun of writing fanfiction, is knowing that other fans like it, right? Bah, I'm no good at begging for reviews. Thanks for reading – k.ramsey


	4. Chapter 4

This was unexpected . . . unanticipated and quite frankly, rather annoying, if not altogether undignified. The prison was simple; light replaced steel. Confinement defined by the prospect of immolation. Elena rubbed her eyes restlessly. Matthew most likely thought her dead, but this was truly the least of her concerns. Three days. They would have to let her out soon, or she'd throwing herself through the sunlight at the slightest hint of blood.

The cool cement of the wall kept her sane. The floor was covered in sand, sand that reflected the heat and light of the contained sunlight. She'd be sweating if she weren't dehydrated. Lips parched, all Elena could do was sit and wait. Of course, Lille Langtry had been by to offer a sneer and warning and Cavenaugh with his slow but gradual understanding of the part he had played in Elena's game.

_"You must think I'm a fool, such a novice to be running the clan's affairs here in the city."_

_"I think you're fit to be the Primogen. Julian Luna wouldn't have it otherwise." Cavenaugh was aware of her hand in the event, but had yet to understand Elena's end - how could he? "And I guess that leaves me in a good place metaphorically -- not literally of course," she gestured to her surroundings. "Having a fit Primogen, such as yourself, owing me a favour."_

_"I asked for leniency for you."_

_"You really think the Prince would have killed one of his own kind?"_

_"Given the crime? No one would have shed a tear for you, my dear. No one would have cared."_

_"Why are you here then? If not to sweep the rest of this mess under the rug?"_

_Cavenaugh considered, flicking grime from underneath his nails. "My child admires you now. She's too young and naive to fear Julian for the warrior that he is, and sees the rest of us as only businessmen. She admires you," he repeated._

_"Ironic."_

_"Indeed. So, what do you want?"_

Someone cleared their throat; Elena hadn't even realized their presence. She opened her eyes to find one of the manse's servants on the other side of the sunlight.

"The Prince wishes to see you," the ghoul said simply. He pushed a button on the wall that shuttered the shafts of light. "Please follow me."

The garden terrace, a bottle of wine and two glasses. Julian stood, leafing through a dossier as she approached, the serf disappearing as imperceptibly as he had arrived in the first place. Elena eyed the wine, smelling the vitae inside, but remained a polite distance away from the Prince.

"Good to see you survived the Prison of Light," he said without looking at her. "Had you frenzied, I would have figured you weren't worth the effort." He closed the folder, turning to Elena and held it up casually. "This is everything my sources could find on you."

Elena took the cue, eyeing the Prince for a moment and then stepped closer and accepted the dossier. She flipped through it quickly. "Are you that worried?"

Julian shrugged, "I like to know who is in my city and why. I still don't know why you're here, but atleast I know a little more about the who."

She paid the file little interest, tossing it onto the table absently. Elena had already sensed the change in the Prince's demeanour; this wasn't about her brawl with the Brujah. Another game was afoot. "So, are you going to offer me some wine?"

Julian laughed slightly as he went over to the table and uncorked the bottle. "I thought you'd never ask," he teased, filling both glasses halfways. She couldn't help but drain hers as the Prince handed it over; he poured her another glass before putting the bottle down.

Elena felt the crispness in her lips fading . . . the blood content was miniscule, but it helped. The second glass sat in her hands temptingly, but she resisted the urge to drain it as well, taking a long sip instead. The dossier sat before her as she drank; a slight breeze lifted the cover of the folder, turning to the first page. Laughter struck her ears against the wild silence of the garden. Elena looked up, as did Julian, to see two Toreador abruptly stop in conversation as they passed.

"Does the entire city live here?"

The Prince shrugged. "Most of the Ventrue, some Toreador, Cash, my neice," he considered Daedalus momentarily, but decided to preserve the Nosferatu's privacy. "A few others."

Elena nodded, flipping through the file again.

"There are plenty of spare rooms, however -"

Elena smiled, suddenly aware of something she should never have missed. As casually as possible, she kept her attention still on the contents of the folder. "I prefer -"

"That apartment of yours, on the east side? It's interesting. Someone only passing through, going through the hassle of leasing an apartment."

"I prefer having my own space," she said. "But congratulations on your homework. Everything seems to be here." Elena looked down, flipping to a page of photographs. "I'm not sure why these are here though. Since we both know I had nothing to do with any of this," she commented, touching one of the photos absently. Bones and ashes . . .

Julian brushed his fingers across hers playfully. "You don't think it's relevent?"

She turned to face him fully. "I thought you were of the mind that the sins of the sire -"

"I'm not." He leaned in to kiss her lightly. but she turned ever-so-slightly to avoid it. Julian smiled widely. "You don't strike me as the type to play coy."

"Oh, I'm not," Elena agreed, her face a breath away from his. She ran a hand down his silk tie to make her point. "I'm just not entirely sure I'm interested in being seduced my you."

Her bluntness surprised him; he hid it with a sip of wine. "No?"

"I realize that I'm fresh blood to the city, and I've seen the fare," Elena carried on, matter-of-factly.

"Not all of them."

"No, but enough to see that the waters here must get pretty stagnant from time to time. And here I am, a mystery woman -" she took another long sip. "I've been around Ventrue men long enough to be aware of their looks."

"Oh? And so how do I look at you?"

"You look at me as though I'm a puzzle you just haven't quite solved yet -- an enigma a night in your bed would remedy, I'm sure." She finished the wine and set the glass down.

"Well, you definitely are an enigma to me," Julian said.

"Am I your prisoner too?"

"If you're not interested in staying with your own kind," the Prince said. "I can atleast have someone drive you home."

"I'd prefer to walk."

"Of course."

She was dialing Matthew's number as she entered the apartment. Everything looked as it should, but a thorough investigation would have to wait until tomorrow. Elena wanted rest and the blood that now filled her belly was only adding to her drowsiness.

"It's you," was all her broodmate said.

"Surprised?"

"Yes. I mean, I was told you were still alive but I had my doubts."

"You don't trust your own sire, Matthew?"

He avoided the question. "But you're allright?"

"I'm fine and I'm going to bed. I'll call tomorrow." She clicked the phone off before Matthew could say anything more, a habit she had picked up from Marius -- one that used to infuriate her ironically.

Sleep was fast; the day rolled on. She slept with her hand around the gun Matthew had left for her. When it came upon her to wake up, Elena opened her eyes slowly. Something in the air was not right. The glock was not in her hand nor under her pillow.

It hung in front of her face, black muzzle greeting her forebodingly. A Brujah held it there, and more filled the room . . .


End file.
